Florette VIII: The Called-Upon

“I’m sorry about the mess.” Florette gestured to the piles of books and papers scattered around her side of the room, cut off sharply at the dividing line where her space ended and Opal’s began. “Trying my best not to fail my thermodynamics examination tomorrow.”

“Thermo?” Rebecca wrinkled her brow. “That’s not really the kind of class you need to study for. Thorburton only tests on the bare minimum; the heart of your mark comes from project work.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Florette said, examining her guest.

Rebecca shrugged with a tilt of her head, jostling her dangling earrings. They were shaped like some kind of bird or bat, wings extended so wide that the body was almost nothing by comparison; probably some creature native to Avalon. More interesting was the muted orange vest, accented by a red jacket with a tall collar.

“Like it?” She smiled. “Might not feel like it after the dark winter we just escaped from, but it is autumn. Want me to wait outside while you get ready?”

“What do you mean? You said to meet at a quarter past six so we could pick up a gift on the way. Isn’t it time to go?”

“Well, that was what I had in mind.” She bit her lip in a terribly familiar way, making Florette briefly wonder what she was even doing here. “Just wasn’t sure if you needed a bit more time. Toby’s not one to stand on ceremony, so we can certainly spare it. But if you’re ready, yeah, let’s go!” She threw the door open dramatically, causing it to slam against the wall and bounce back into a closed position. “Crap, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Florette opened the door again, leading the way out. Maybe I will be underdressed, but it’s not like I have anything all that suitable anyway.

Regardless, Rebecca was right about the season. Spending all her time inside working in the library, Florette had scarcely noticed the red leaves on all the trees until now. Strange, to see so many of them like that, rather than a scattered few, near to the ground, fighting their losing battle against the seasons before surrendering to winter.

“Everything look good with the essay?”

“Definitely. I just finished getting it all stitched together, editing the style to match a bit more. You’ve got a really florid style, I was kinda surprised.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? “Surprised?”

“Yeah, in a good way. I mean you’re so practical, you know? To the point. And then you managed to make a bureaucratic program for scientific development sound like a tragically doomed battle for Avalon’s soul. I wouldn’t have thought you had such a way with words. Do you write? Outside of schoolwork, I mean.”

“Nope. I read a lot, but that was probably the first time I’d picked up a pen in months.” Florette wrinkled her eyebrows. “Can I see the changes you made? I don’t want all my future work to use the wrong style.”

“Of course, but I don’t want you to worry.” Rebecca grabbed Florette’s arm, a smile across her face. “It was great, really. I’m so used to churning out whatever uninspired dreck will get me the highest mark, I almost forget that trying to write something good was an actual option.” She stopped, turning off from the street. “Here’s the shop. I wasn’t really sure which direction to go, so I figured it’d be best to try a place with a bit of everything.”

Shop? This is a palace. Dozens of people were streaming in and out the doors, a massive row better befitting an opera house, and the interior did little to dispel the comparison, with four stories of balconies looking out over a massive open great hall. Florette thought she saw models posing atop square white platforms, but closer inspection revealed them to be mannequins, wearing a colorful menagerie for admiring onlookers.

“Even blue?” Florette muttered, running her fingers across a woolen scarf hanging from a mannequin’s head. “Do you know how expensive that dye is?” She glanced down at a paper tag affixed to it, showing what was presumably the price: eight hundred mandala. “Oh, nevermind.”

“If you want to stop by the clothing section, we have time. I’m thinking maybe wine for Toby, no one ever turns that down.”

“No, it’s fine. Let’s head there first.”

That meant descending a massive staircase towards the cellars, with aisles upon aisles of racks, each boasting dozens of bottles. Most of the space was devoted to beer and spirits, the former encased in glass bottles small enough to fit in one hand, though there were barrels present as well.

“They make wine in Bellowton?” Florette asked, examining a bottle.

“Technically,” Rebecca scoffed. “It’s fine enough if you just want something cheap and don’t mind a bomb of fruit going off in your mouth, but even for the price, you’re better off with brandy. This is a gift, so we’re aiming a little higher. Something imported, Rhanoir maybe.” She picked up a bottle of Mernuit from the Île de Lunette, eyeing the hundred-thirty mandala price.

“That’s a six-florin wine.” Florette gently grabbed the bottle and put it back, feeling her fingers glance against Rebecca’s. “I’m sure it costs to import it, but I’m going to go ahead and guess that they’re gouging people who don’t know any better.”

“Oh, right, I didn't even think to ask Miss Malin here. Of course you’d be an expert.”

“I don’t know about that, but I’m happy to help.” Camille would keel over if she heard you call me one, Florette thought with a smile. “There, that one. La Jaubertie. It’s excellent, not too fruity, reasonably well-regarded, and they haven’t marked it up too much either.”

“Perfect, thank you!”

“Should I bring a gift too?”

“You’ve never even met him.” She shook her head. “Besides, this one’s basically from both of us, thanks to your expertise.”

“I didn’t bring enough to pay for half, but—”

“Thanks to your expertise. Don’t worry about that.” Rebecca grabbed the bottle and began walking to the sales counter. “Wait, you don’t have even thirty mandala with you? What if you need fare for a carriage in an emergency?”

“I’ve never even been in a carriage.” Unless that wagon counts, from when I was robbing the railyard. Florette figured that it didn’t. “Dealt with plenty of emergencies when they come calling, and I’ve managed so far.”

“Plenty? Like what?” Raising her eyebrows, Rebecca smiled at Florette. “Obviously the darkness is one, but…”

Oh, you know, robbed a train, assassinated one of your governors, dueled the Queen of Winter, slew the very sun in the sky before his reign of tyranny could begin. Standard stuff, really. Florette pressed her lips back, trying to look off into the distance. “It’s personal, if you don’t mind.”

“No, of course. Stupid of me to ask. Sorry.” Rebecca turned her head away, muttering a nearly inaudible “fuck”, then apologized again.

“It’s fine, really. I’d rather we just stop talking about it.” Florette frowned. Should I even be going to this? A party meant drinking, or standing out by not drinking, neither of which was super conducive to smoothly maintaining her cover. It wasn’t like it was strictly necessary, or even directly beneficial to the mission.

Not directly.

Fortunately, the party venue, a hotel known as The Lumper, was in the same neighborhood as the shop, Seaworn, which The End of Time had obliquely alluded to as the dingiest, poorest district within Cambria’s walls. Of course, that was over a hundred years ago, and more than half the city was outside of those walls now.

Certainly, that old description didn’t seem accurate any more, if the multi-story shops and scenic overlooks of the Lyrion sea were anything to go by. Though the steep slopes did make traversal slightly less smooth, which was more of a problem for Rebecca than anything, given she was winded by the time they made it to the club.

Florette couldn’t help but laugh at the mild misfortune, though she tried to hide it.

“Shut up,” Rebecca panted, though Florette hadn’t said anything. “It’s not my fault you’re apparently half mountain-goat.”

“True enough. But didn’t you say the party’s on the sixth floor? You’ve got a lot of stairs ahead of you. I don’t mind waiting if you want to catch your breath.”

Rebecca grinned, letting out a slight laugh. “Prepare to be amazed.” She led the way inside, walking straight past the staircase towards what looked like a massive birdcage, large enough to fit five people, hanging from thick cables stretching towards the ceiling above. Inside was a neatly dressed man in a grey hat and jacket, who opened the door for them as they approached.

“Is this safe?” Florette muttered, divining its purpose from context.

“Tower-approved. Not a single failure since they were put in,” the operator answered, holding the doors open. “But if you’re worried, you’re welcome to take the stairs. Just back that way.”

Imagine Robin Verrou finding out I kept my cover perfectly, only to fall to my death from a mechanical failure, Florette thought as she nervously followed Rebecca inside. Though if something really goes wrong, I suppose I do have Glaciel’s ring on me. It might be possible to stick to the sides, though it would mean trying to freeze the entire cage in place as it was plummeting down, which wasn’t a particularly enticing possibility.

“It’s alright to be scared.” Rebecca grabbed Florette’s hand and squeezed. “I was too, the first few times.”

The operator fiddled with the dials in front of him, and the winches began to turn, slowly pulling the cage upwards, creaking ominously every step of the way.

Florette’s knuckles were white by the time they reached the top, and she practically flew out of the doors the moment they opened. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re reckless?”

“Never. I tend to play it safe.” Rebecca shrugged. “You?”

“Ha!” Florette burst into laughter, feeling her body shake. Once she’d composed herself, she said, perfectly straight-faced, “Me neither.”

“Well, if that isn’t a relief. Come on, it’s this way.”

The moment Rebecca opened the door, music flooded Florette’s ears, infused with the same otherworldly quality as Magnifico’s pulsebox. Although this was richer somehow, more complete, like someone had tried to split the difference between the impossible chirping of the pulsebox with the sound of actual instruments. There was a recognizable bass sound, and even twangy approximations of flutes and brass. Honestly, after a moment to adjust, it wasn’t bad. Just strange, weirdly more so than the pulsebox for trying to bridge the gap.

“They’re over there.” Rebecca pointed towards a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Lyrion sea, the height of the building allowing a view over the walls. As they walked up, Florette could even see an island to the far left, surrounded by iron ships glinting in the sunset, a squat grey building sitting atop it.

She began to hear bits of conversation as they approached the guest of honor, sitting next to another boy on a sofa.

“...Honestly, I’d rather they enjoy it. The technology is just a vehicle for the music, and now thousands of people across the world will hear it who never would have otherwise.” Tobias Folsom’s hair was unkempt, light brown, his stature short.

“But it was stolen from you. You’re saying everything should be free just because some pirate said so?” The boy he was talking to looked faintly familiar, though Florette couldn’t entirely place it.

“Well, sure, I probably deserve a cut that I’m never going to get. But it’s not like I need the money. And it means that any music I make has potential to go international. Shit, I can even sell the sheets to people with pirate-copied machines if turning a profit is so important. I think grousing about it is missing the potential here. In fact—” Folsom turned to face them as they approached. “Rebecca! Glad you make it.” He snickered, seemingly at some inside joke, then turned to Florette. “And who might you be?”

“Srin Sabine, from Malin, by way of Chaya.”

“She’s with me,” Rebecca said, thrusting the wine bottle towards him. “This is from both of us. Congratulations, Toby!”

“Ooh, imported. Thank you.” He set the wine down on the table. “Sabine, this is Kelsey Thorley. It might be hard to see him behind his titanic obsession with trains.”

“Thorley, huh?” No wonder he looks familiar.

“Yeah, I was going to ask, since you’re from Malin. My dad did some work over there, setting up the railroad. Celice Thorley. Did you know him?”

“By reputation. I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting him in person.”

Thorley snorted. “Some reputation. His security was lax enough to let a pirate make off with priceless engine specifications and irreplaceable books, and then Prince Luce sacked him for it.” He let out a short laugh. “Of course, I’m hardly doing any better. Luce tapped me to replace my father, I was all set to go, and then the sun winked out like a day-old candle.”

“Don’t let him get started,” Folsom insisted. “He’s psychologically incapable of seeing the bright side.”

Psychologically? What does that even mean?

“Well, Toby, when you get offered the job of a lifetime, and then the world nearly ends, and when the fog clears, you find out your employer was usurped by an evil sorceress and you have to repeat your last term at school, then you’re welcome to complain about me complaining. Obviously, Khali hates me.”

Rebecca jumped onto the sofa across from them, pulling Florette down next to her. “Just because you have a good reason this time, Kelsey, it doesn’t mean we’re not all sick of hearing you whine.”

“Oh, the betrayal!” Kelsey pounded his fist against his heart, making a pained expression. “Rebecca, you of all people should be with me on this. You’re in the same boat.”

“Well, it’s not exactly the same.” She frowned, eyes darting between Florette and Kelsey.

“What happened? Other than the school thing, that much I’m pretty familiar with by now.” Florette tried to gauge Rebecca’s expression, downcast but earnest. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

“There’s not really much to say. I did a big favor for Prince Harold, and he said he’d talk to his brother to get me a Tower job straight out of school. But shit happened, Prince Luce is gone, and I’m guessing our bonny prince forgot all about it by now. I’ll be on my own once I graduate.” She held up her hands, feigning indifference. “It’s fine.”

Obviously not, but I’ll leave that be. No point in prodding at an open wound.

“He was never going to give you that job anyway,” a high voice said, coming up from behind them with a stumbling gait. “All he wanted were gardeners and typists. It’s a wonder he didn’t run the Tower entirely into the ground before he was sacked.”

“Speaking of bitterness,” Rebecca mumbled. “Sabine, this is Olivia Esterton.”

“Charmed,” Florette lied, reaching out to shake her hand.

“Oh, yeah,” she slurred. “You’re that know-it-all from Alcock’s class. Hate to say it, but memorizing his books won’t make him notice you, not the way you want.” She snorted. “You sure can pick ‘em, Rebecca. Is it a problem when she calls out Alcock’s name in bed?”

“Olivia!” Toby practically shouted. “What are you doing?”

“You know she’s from the western isles, right? What would your father think?”

Rebecca stood up, planting herself right in Olivia’s face. “My father’s opinion on my life is irrelevant. As is yours. I understand that you’re feeling ill tonight, so I’m going to be generous and forget about this. Go home and rest.”

“But I’m not—” Her face scanned the disapproval from Toby and even Kelsey, then curled into a pout. “Fine! Nobody can handle a joke anymore, damn.” Nostrils flared, she spun around and marched towards the exit.

No one released the breath they were holding until the door had closed behind her.

“I am so sorry about her. Her father works for mine, so we have to include her, but…” Rebecca shook her head. “I hope it didn’t ruin the night for you.”

“It’s nothing, really. She didn’t even try to kill me.”

Kelsey let out a chuckle. “Well, if you see her with a metal glove, crackling with energy, be on your guard.”

“I’ll be careful.”

And careful she was. Florette sipped slowly from her glass, taking care not to drink too much, and as the party wore on, she found that she didn’t even need to pretend.

Rebecca, it seemed, did not share the same inhibitions, and it was scarcely an hour before she passed out on the sofa.

“She’ll be fine,” Kelsey assured. “This happens all the time. I’ll call a carriage to get her home.”

“Thank you. I was worried I’d have to carry her.”

“Ha! I bet she’d love that.”

“Kel, don’t.” Toby smacked him lightly on the arm. “We should probably be going as well. It was a pleasure meeting you, and thanks to you both for the wine.”

“Hope you enjoy it.”

Florette waited until she could see Rebecca’s carriage speeding away, her friends keeping an eye on her within it, then began the long walk back. At least it was downhill this time. And Cambria did a remarkable job with its lamps, with at least one on every block, most of them still lit even this deep into the night.

In fact, they seemed to be getting even more frequent as she went, since the street was only getting brighter.

Warmer too.

Florette picked up her pace, walking faster, then running towards the orange glow in the distance. The closer she got, the more onlookers she had to slip by, the more obvious it was that something was seriously wrong.

Finally, passing through the gates to the production district, she laid eyes on the fire. An entire building was lit up like a candle, burning bright, with smoke trailing up from the top. Worse, the fire had already spread to the two factories next to it, and didn’t look like it was slowing down at all.

“Miss, back up. You have to stay on the other side of the gate. It’s not safe here.” A man in a pointy hat and what looked like a slightly modified Guardian uniform started waving his hands back towards the gate. “Now!”

“Sorry,” she said, hustling back towards the crowd. She heard a crash as she crossed the threshold, and looked back just in time to see a jet of flame escape from one of the windows, shattering glass as it went.

Their factories are burning… Florette hid her smile, obviously, but either Avalon had made a horrific mistake, or she wasn’t the only one in Cambria working against the regime. I hope it wasn’t Christophe, though. She’d been very clear with him not to do anything like this, and arson didn’t exactly fit his aesthetic either, but he had been a bit overeager sometimes…

“What happened?” Florette asked no one in particular, quickly hearing her question buried in a sea of hushed conversations.

“It’s war, plain and simple. That sorceress sent her pet flame warlock to kill us all.”

“Starting in the production district? It’s sabotage. One of those whiny do-no-work anarchists thought they could get out of it with a bit of arson. You know how troublesome they’ve been lately.”

“Wouldn’t they wait until the shift was over then? There’s got to be a hundred people trapped inside there.”

“What?” Florette was louder this time, eyes flicking from the crowd to the fire, her glee abruptly vanishing. “It’s the middle of the night. Hasn’t everyone gone home?” If I’d done this, I would have made absolutely sure. Triple-checked every last corner.

This time, she did get a response, from a man in a round hat with a large mustache, the same one who’d been complaining about the ‘whiny anarchists’. “They go home when the work is done. Otherwise it’d be bedlam. If you’re up early, sometimes you see them wandering home, making bawdy jokes and drinking. If it’s not sabotage, I’d wager one of them passed out at their post and started the fire. Or maybe one of those stupid kids. I swear, they start working any younger and the foremen will need bassinets.”

“But… trapped? Like from collapsing rubble?”

The ‘gentleman’ shook his head. “If it’s anything like my brother’s factory, they keep the doors locked to stop any unauthorized shiftlessness and theft. I swear, these lazy bastards will steal anything that isn’t nailed down if given the chance.”

Without really thinking about it, Florette started moving back towards the gate, only to be blocked by more uniforms with pointy hats, and a barricade they’d since erected. “What’d I say, girl? Get back! Nothing you can do.”

That’s not true at all. She had the Cloak of Nocturne; she had the Ring of Glaciel; she had experience on a battlefield with infernos worse than this.

People were burning alive right now and they expected her to do nothing. Captain Verrou would want her to do nothing. Stepping in would only risk her cover. Holding back was the smart thing, the lesser evil for the greater good. It wasn’t a risk worth taking. Florette knew it, she knew what she was supposed to do here, what Srin Sabine would do here, it was so obvious.

But she couldn’t.

That’s not who I am.